


Hard at Work

by RichmanBachard



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fantasizing, Masturbation, Other, Slice of Life, Vigilante hard at work, mentions of past relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 08:15:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12338880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RichmanBachard/pseuds/RichmanBachard
Summary: Jack gets off.





	Hard at Work

_Pop_. 

 

Jack groaned as he cracked his back. He twisted and turned, squeezing what little relief could be had with further pops. His patrol went moderately well that night. But his mind had been elsewhere. No matter, he thought. The cracking, popping, and stretching was a nightly ritual for Morrison. He sighed, undoing his jacket and putting it away. In spite of his success, he remained frustrated. 

 

Dorado harbored a treasure trove of people, of culture. Venomous gangs, hardworking citizens, cute kids, and some rather fine beauties; ladies of the night adept in relieving a number of things. They sauntered and flirted as best they could. He paid them no mind. Even so, late at night he would find their words digging deep in his core. It wasn’t helping. He considered taking them up on their offers, sometimes. _The Hero of El Dorado_ , some would call him. The criminals—and the authorities—referred to him as nothing more than a mere vigilante.

 

He didn’t care for the distinction. All that mattered was the need for justice. The city needed it, desired it. The ladies of the night were ultimately superfluous, however grateful they might’ve been. Wanting to give him the fucking of his life as thanks was simply a cute thought every now and again. It wasn’t genuine. It was purely a physical pleasure, he needed more than that.

 

Though, he did heavily consider it at certain points.

 

_No, no.._

 

Having sat down, he took a moment to simply _breath_. For years, he had to struggle, to fight. He made a name for himself and had a mission to complete – but on occasion, all he wanted was to rest. 

 

But he couldn’t rest until a considerable problem was dealt with.

 

He sighed and, hesitantly, unbuckled his belt, lifting his hips up as he yanked his trousers down past his thighs. His underwear tented at the newly-found freedom. He groaned, slowly moving his hands to pull the waistband down. His cock came free, causing him to sigh in relief.

 

He went to grasp at his manhood, but felt something off. Grunting, he realized what was wrong and nipped at the end of one of the gloved fingertips, pulling back and slipping the glove of his right hand off. He felt a ticklish, nervous urge in his stomach. It had been a while. 

 

Pushing a variety of thoughts to the side, he focused solely on what little fantasies remained in his mind—and the sexual encounters of his previous life.

 

There were the what-ifs — of taking up the prostitutes on their offer. He certainly carried with him the constitution to satisfy more than once. 

 

There were the heated, passionate moments he shared with Ana. Back then, she was a bombshell and knew a thing or two around his body. Those were good memories. He missed her.

 

Plenty more what-ifs had filled his mind; dozens of passionate encounters with a dozen people. Rarely did he ever allow himself to entertain such ideas—he was far too much a man of discipline and honor to bother. 

 

These days, things weren’t the same. 

 

Last, and certainly not least, there was another – an illustrious memory safely wrapped in the corner of his mind. Unpacking such a box caused him too much grief—a reminder of what once was.

 

_Angela_.

 

For all his charm and sexual encounters, she was the real-deal. She would have sooner knocked him on his ass than kissed it, she reminded him a lot of Ana but … different, in a way. Unique. He found himself conflicted from the start, his love for her and his love for Ana put him between a rock and a hard place. 

 

Ana approved, in time. She managed to get a piece of the blonde, too, and he was able to watch – until he inevitably joined in. But a permanent two-for-one special was never in the cards, no matter how much alcohol they might’ve had. He had to choose, so he chose Angela. Again, Ana approved, in time, and then, she was gone. They were all gone.

 

He cared for Angela, for his team and ideals. When they all managed to wither away, he was half the man he used to be. Now he was a shell; a vessel. He found these bitter events particularly not erotic. He had to move on.

 

He could recount the number of wonderful things about her, Angela, his angel, in an attempt to subdue the pain – but right now, all that colored his mind was her naked body; her buxom features, dedicated skills, and a surprising love for his cum.

 

His life was defined by strong women, every one unlocking a small piece of him, helping him grow. Angela knew things, showed him things he thought impossible. And it showed in the bedroom, too. The mere thought made him stroke his cock harder and more thoroughly.

 

He hissed through gritted teeth as cum shot from his tip. With a pained groan, thick, milky ropes jettisoned upwards, splattering his taut abs. He haphazardly continued his motions in order to ring out the last bits of euphoric bliss.

 

Only then did he realize he had left his mask on. 

 

He kind of liked it.

 

Leaning his head back, his cock slowly began to soften as it flopped back against him, head glistening with leftover pleasure. His chest heaved, quietly, as he rode the fleeting orgasmic high. Years of death, grief, and struggle pained him day by day; little moments like these were dime a dozen. He took the necessary time needed to savor it; a few hours of rest sounded good. Real good.

 

..he’d clean up the mess later.

**Author's Note:**

> Expect more Morrison-centric stories to come. Thanks for reading.


End file.
